


Breaking Point

by 3hours



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, But He's Learning, Fenris is not a gentle lover, Hand Jobs, Hopeful Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Porn with Feelings, Relationship Negotiation, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3hours/pseuds/3hours
Summary: The most frustrating thing was that Fenris stayed by Hawke’s side and guarded him more possessively than a mabari. If someone came too close, he growled at them until they went away. Unwilling to let Hawke in, and too jealous to permit anyone else having him.And Hawke… Hawke was unwilling to walk away. As long as Fenris was still there at his side, still protective of him,still wearing that blasted red band around his wrist, there had to be a sliver of a chance he’d someday want to try again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KnifeEdge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnifeEdge/gifts).



> Many people have written out the scene of Fenris and Hawke’s first night. I prefer to imagine the second one, and figure out various ways it could have happened. In this story, I let Zevran’s flirting be the catalyst that brings them back together.
> 
> Roughly 9'600 words, all finished, and beta'd by the lovely KnifeEdge. This fic is for her, since she's responsible for introducing me to Fenris and creating the monster I have become. 
> 
> Tl;dr Zevran ex machina.

Hawke watched Zevran walk away and, more than likely, out of his life forever. Even his easy stride was tantamount to flirting; his hips swayed in a way that took your thoughts to happy places, and he looked over his shoulder, once, to wink and grin. Hawke let out a wistful sigh. Once the elf was out of earshot, he turned to the _other_ elf and threw his hands out to either side.

“Really, Fenris?”

Fenris gave him a level glare that was only a touch less hostile than the one he’d directed at Zevran only a minute ago. His arms were crossed over his chest.

The delight Hawke had felt in Zevran’s company faded. So did the excitement at his flirting and the rising thrill as each suggestive remark surpassed the previous one and escalated their little game. Hawke ran a hand over his face, suddenly tired. It wasn’t like he was _interested_ in Zevran. Sure, the elf had been pleasant enough to the eye and easy to get on with, but Hawke was no fool. He knew this was purely born from the frustration of too many long and lonely nights.

Unfortunately for him, the one he had his heart set on refused to return his feelings. Oh, Fenris wore Hawke’s favors openly and would more than likely lay down his life if Hawke’s was in danger, but when it came to intimacy he backed away.

A wary wolf, burned once by the fire and twice shy.

The most frustrating thing was that Fenris stayed by Hawke’s side and guarded him more possessively than a mabari. If someone came too close, he growled at them until they went away. Unwilling to let Hawke in, and too jealous to permit anyone else having him.

And Hawke… Hawke was unwilling to walk away. As long as Fenris was still there at his side, still protective of him, _still wearing that blasted red band around his wrist_ , there had to be a sliver of a chance he’d someday want to try again.

If he was honest with himself, Hawke had flirted with Zevran partially to prod at Fenris’ jealousy. It wasn’t nice, but they’d been at this stalemate so long moss must have grown on them by now. Hawke’s patience, already worn whisper-thin, neared its breaking point.

Hawke stepped closer, mirrored Fenris’ crossed arms, and lowered his voice to a hiss in an attempt at keeping their conversation private. It would no doubt be futile; Varric had magically enhanced hearing, Hawke was sure of it.

“Look, there’s nothing I want more than to be yours, you _know_ that, but it’s been ages. You can’t keep a claim on me forever and...” He sighed again and his tone softened. “And not act on it. It isn’t fair to me. Nor to you.”

“Is that how you feel?” Fenris’ brow lowered over his eyes as he spoke, but Hawke thought he’d seen a flash of something like hope in them. Perhaps it was merely his own. Hope was a terrible thing.

“ _Yes_.”

 _Love me or let me go, but end this torture._  

Fenris sent one last glare down the road where Zevran was no longer visible. “I see.”

Hawke’s shoulders slumped and he regretted pushing the issue, as usual. One of these days he’d push too hard and never see Fenris again. He’d just have to pay a visit to the Rose in the near future and sort himself out.

Hawke was about to redact his words and concede the futility of his ultimatum when a fist to his chest interrupted him. Not _in_ his chest, thankfully, but shoving him with enough force to make him stagger back a step.

“Hey, wh—”

Clawed fingers hooked under Hawke’s leather jerkin and yanked him forwards again until he bumped against the unyielding form of Fenris’ breastplate.

“In that case...” Sharp metal points scraped against his chest through the shirt and Fenris used his grip to lift up on his toes and bring his face level with Hawke’s. “I choose to act.”

Despite the closeness, their eyes did not meet. Fenris, who was bad at maintaining eye-contact on a good day, had his sight set on Hawke’s mouth. Before he could do more than part his lips to speak, Fenris tilted his head, leaned in, and silenced Hawke in the most efficient way possible. His kiss was hard and demanding, his skin warm from the sun, and the familiar taste of lyrium that had taken him by surprise last time flooded Hawke’s senses. It took only a second for him to shake out of his stupor and respond in kind.

He’d missed this. Missed the slick, heated flavor of Fenris’ mouth, the scent of his sweat and leather. Even the faint sour taste of wine at the back of his tongue was a welcome gift. He’d missed those uncompromising lips against his own, missed the hands that were at once greedy and afraid. Like Hawke was something Fenris didn’t deserve, and could be taken away from him at a moment’s notice.

Someone whistled, but it was distant and unimportant.

It was frightening how easily Fenris could tear through any defenses Hawke tried to set up. Not that he made much effort building any. There was no point; Fenris’ fingers were wrapped around his heart as surely as if he’d stuck his hand inside Hawke’s chest to grab it. Hawke was lost. He’d been so ever since the day the white-haired elf had walked into his life, fresh blood on his armor, and introduced himself.

Fenris tilted his head more, deepening the kiss, and Hawke failed to stifle an approving moan. He brought his arms up and around Fenris’ lithe body under the pretext of helping to support him, but all he wanted was to press them closer. Fenris’ free hand had found its way to the back of Hawke’s neck where the cool metal of his gauntlets felt soothing against hot skin. He made no attempt to stop Hawke’s own hands when one of them slid down to cup his ass. Hawke had big hands, and Fenris was lean and slender. It made for a perfect fit, like Hawke was meant to have his hand there, always.

After some time, Varric’s voice pierced through the pleasant haze. “Ah, as much as we’re all enjoying the show and I’m getting copious writing notes… perhaps it’s time to head back to camp? You can always continue there.”

Fenris broke the kiss, but remained close enough for Hawke to feel the wolfish smirk that curled his mouth. His face was flushed with color all the way to his ears, and Hawke could feel his own skin burn, too. On any normal day, Fenris would be the _last_ person to show any kind of affection in public. Hawke didn’t favor it either. This, however, was an exception he was willing to make.

In a hoarse and dark voice, Fenris muttered for Hawke’s ears only: “Come see me at my mansion when we’re back in town. We’ll talk then.”

Before he pulled away, as a last little reminder of whose leash was wrapped tight around Hawke’s neck, Fenris leaned in and bit his lower lip with enough ferocity Hawke yelped. And then he slipped out of Hawke’s grasp and walked off, headed back toward their tents, as casual and blank-faced as though nothing remarkable had happened and despite the redness of his cheeks.

Varric came over and nudged Hawke’s side. “I ought to send that Crow a thank-you card; those pining looks were getting old.”

Gently, Hawke pressed two fingers against his mouth. His lip had already begun to swell. It would throb and sting for hours, and refuse to let him forget.

Just as Fenris had no doubt intended.

The bastard couldn’t be more infuriating if he’d tried, but Hawke had gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? And Fenris had _chosen_ this. Willingly. He’d also invited Hawke home with the promise they’d talk, something he’d desperately wanted ever since the night their budding relationship had died.

Hawke couldn’t even bring himself to care that the entire incident had taken place in front of their friends. There’d be an eerily similar scene in Varric’s next book, no doubt, but that was fine. Everything was fine.

No.

Fenris had kissed him. Everything was _perfect_.

Merrill, who seemed oblivious to the gigantic breakthrough that had just taken place, picked up her bag. “Are we leaving?”

Hawke glanced over at her. He might be able to bribe Varric to secrecy, but Merrill would tell Isabela. Not with intent or malice, she’d just blurt it out without a thought to the consequences. And once Isabela knew, they’d all know. He might as well put up a notice on the Chantry board.

“Yeah. Let’s go back.”

Despite the puffy lip, Hawke couldn’t keep an elated smile off his face.

 

\---

 

Hawke had the very best of intentions when he made his way through Hightown’s streets the next day. They’d returned to Kirkwall in the early afternoon, and after a hot bath and some fresh clothes, Hawke set out to see Fenris.

During his bath, he’d spent a considerable amount of time trying to puzzle out what he should expect. He’d stayed until the water grew cool around him but emerged none the wiser. _You can’t keep a claim on me and not act on it_ , he’d said. And Fenris had acted. What that action entailed, precisely, Hawke had no idea, although it was miles better than nothing.

But this was Fenris. Mercurial, ill-tempered Fenris, with a past so dark it rivaled a coal cellar. Hawke had never been able to predict him. Going to him with any kind of expectation for what would happen almost certainly ensured it wouldn’t.

So Hawke tried to curb his wild hopes and repeatedly told himself he wanted nothing more than an improvement of the impasse that had lasted far too long between them. He knew it was a lie. A blatant lie. Even so, he clung to those good intentions — _we’re just going to talk_ — through the door and across the dilapidated entry hall, and all the way up to the landing. Then he saw Fenris emerge from the shadows at the top of the main staircase and they vanished. He’d foregone his armor and the wide leather belt, and was clad in just the tunic over his habitual leggings. His hair was still damp from a recent bath.

Someone who didn’t know Fenris might’ve said he looked defenseless. Weak, even. That person wouldn’t last long.

Rather than wait for Hawke to come to him, Fenris descended. Each step he took was slow and calculated, and Hawke’s heartbeat hastened with every one. He felt hunted. Darkened eyes traveled down along Hawke’s body and back up again in an equally unhurried and deliberate move.

Hawke wet his lips. “Why do I have the feeling I’ve walked into a wolf’s den?”

“A fitting simile, considering most who’ve entered never made it out alive.” Fenris’ voice started out casual and flippant, but it didn’t last. He reached the landing, chin held high and his intent gaze uncharacteristically steady, and his tone dropped to a near-growl. “But you _want_ the wolf, don’t you, Hawke?”

No beating around the bush, then. A shiver ran down Hawke’s back at Fenris’ predatory approach, but he’d come prepared to put his cards on the table.

“I do.”

He didn’t yield while Fenris advanced, nor when they were mere inches apart, but when Fenris’ bare hands splayed against his chest he willingly let himself be pushed backward until his rear met the wall behind him. Whatever Fenris had in mind, Hawke would let him lead. After all, when _he_ had tried to make a move it had ended in disaster.

 

[ ](https://i.imgur.com/uclHCDS.png)

Drawn by the fabulous [Tevinter Biscuit](http://the-tevinter-biscuit.tumblr.com/post/178604445266/a-commissioned-piece-for-its99pm-based-off-her) on tumblr ❤

 

Fenris drew a breath and his mouth moved. His lips pursed, presumably to protest, to call Hawke’s judgement into question, but he seemed to think better of it and merely shook his head. “I won’t pretend to understand.”

 _I love you_ , Hawke could have told him. Or more appropriately: _I love you, you stubborn, prickly idiot._ But that likely wouldn’t improve matters. Besides, he was pretty sure Fenris knew by now. At the very least he had to suspect it.

Fenris’ hands slid down Hawke’s front and settled just above his belt as he closed the gap between them. Hawke ceased any attempt at reasoning and tried to remember he needed to breathe.

This was made difficult when Fenris kissed him and the fire Hawke had worked so diligently to tame and keep low flared up inside him and burned under his skin. Like before, Fenris lifted up on his toes and used his hold on Hawke’s body to brace himself, and once again Hawke melted into the ravenous kiss and offered his arms for support.

This time, there were no one else present to halt their progress.

Although a full day had passed, the onslaught of Fenris’ unrelenting mouth soon made Hawke’s lower lip twinge in pain. When he whimpered and pulled away he worried it’d give Fenris pause.

It didn’t. Instead he grabbed a fistful of Hawke’s hair and tugged his head backward so he could close his lips around Hawke’s exposed throat. His mouth parted and Hawke felt the tip of Fenris’ warm, wet tongue slide over the bump of his Adam’s apple, tasting him.

As he slowly worked his way down, Hawke could smell the remnants of the soap he used in his hair: elfroot and a hint of vandal aria. A clean, fresh scent that made him wonder what Fenris’ own throat would taste like. And his chest, his stomach, his thighs. Fenris took a lazy detour along a collarbone that sent shivers through his whole body, before he ended up in the crook of Hawke’s neck, where he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin.

His other hand began to work on the lacing of Hawke’s pants.

A muffled, impatient noise reached his ears, but Hawke didn’t know which of them had made it. It didn’t matter. His pulse drummed loud enough to drown out the sound of fabric and leather being pushed aside, but nothing could silence the moan he made when Fenris reached down and wrapped hot fingers around Hawke’s cock.

His hand may have been smaller than Hawke was accustomed to, but he used a tighter grip. His rhythm was different, too. Within a handful of slow, fastidious pulls Fenris had him moaning again, and Hawke reached beside him, blindly, for something to hold on to. He found a wall of crumbling bricks and located a somewhat sturdy section, while Fenris’ head settled against his shoulder so he could look down and watch what he was doing.

Underneath the rising pleasure, apprehension crawled up Hawke’s spine until the hairs at the back of his neck rose. In the Antivan camp Fenris had made it clear he chose to act. Chose to kiss Hawke. Chose to invite him into his home. But now… He’d acknowledged he knew Hawke wanted him. Wanted the wolf, teeth and all. What _Fenris_ wanted had remained unspoken.

Hawke swallowed thickly and attempted to not let desire win over sanity. “Fen?”

As lovely as Fenris’ touch was, Hawke could never forgive himself if he messed up this second chance. He had to make sure.

“Hmm?”

“I need to know you want this.” He paused to gasp and catch his breath. Talking was becoming increasingly difficult. “That you’re not — _oh_ — just doing it because of Zevran. Or because _I_ want it.”

Fenris chuckled. Maker’s breath, he _laughed_. He also ran his thumb over the head of Hawke’s cock and spread the slick that had appeared there, which temporarily tongue-tied him and kept him from making a stupid or witty remark. It turned out to be a good thing.

“I dream of you. Nightly. It’s always you.” Fenris spoke the words husky and low, while he worked at a steadily increasing pace. His hand moved easier now, but he kept his grip possessively tight and it was driving Hawke mad. “As if it wasn’t enough that you invade my every waking thought.”

The revelation sent a shudder through Hawke. Why did Fenris have to be so stubborn? Why did they lie awake at night, longing for the other, when they could have _this_?

He’d ask if it didn’t mean interrupting Fenris’ monologue, and if he had any faith he could get the words out without punctuating them with moans.

“I dream of your hands. I dream of them touching me.”

Hawke groaned and dug the fingers of his free hand into Fenris’ hip. He shifted his feet in response, changing their position slightly, and all of a sudden Hawke had a hard length prodding against his thigh. If he wanted something more tangible than words, he had his answer.

“I dream of your _mouth_. Of your _tongue_ , and the way it felt when you wrapped them around me.”

Pressure began to coil at the base of his spine. This would end all too quick. He closed his eyes in an attempt to stall the inevitable, but he couldn’t shut out Fenris’ persistent whispers.

“I dream of your body, supine and stretched out under me. I dream of _you_ , ready and willing and wanting.”

Hawke tried to grab Fenris’ wrist to slow him down, but was batted away. “Fen, it’s been too long, I don’t want it to be over so—”

“We’ll do it again, later.”

The way he said it was so calm, so confident, Hawke couldn’t help but believe him. There was a _we_. There would be a _later_. And there would be _more_. He stopped fighting.

“And every time, when I wake from those dreams…” Fenris paused to press a kiss to his neck and Hawke held his breath as the tension grew unbearable. “I imagine pushing inside you again, and the way you looked up at me that night. It never fails to make me spill.”

Hawke didn’t stand a chance. He let out an inarticulate cry and his whole body froze for a few seconds as his release was wrung out of him. Fenris never ceased moving, but he slowed down and milked Hawke until the last drop was out.

He sagged, knees gone weak, and once the haze of pleasure began to lift, he found himself supported by and partially hanging on Fenris. He blinked a few times before he could see clearly and drew a shaky breath. Then he turned his head. And frowned.

“You could look less smug.”

Fenris smirked. “I’m feeling smug right now. I’ll keep it.”

Once he regained more of his composure, he discovered Fenris had cleaned him up. His own hand, too. What with, he had no memory of. He also realised Fenris still pressed insistently against him, hard and as of yet unsatisfied. He broke into a smile and straightened, reinvigorated by the prospect of remedying that.

“Let me wipe that grin off your face.”

Before he could make a move, Fenris grabbed his shoulders, hoisted himself up, and wrapped long legs around Hawke’s waist. There was little else Hawke could do but bring his arms around him and help hold him up.

“You’ll do no such thing.” But then his expression softened, and he buried his face in the crook of Hawke’s neck. “Take me to bed, Hawke.”


	2. Chapter 2

It took him a moment to remember where he was and navigate the quickest route to Fenris' bedroom. The way Fenris' hard body pressed against his own overly sensitive one with each step didn't help matters, either. At least his thighs — and oh Maker, they were such strong thighs — kept Hawke's pants in place.

"What do you want me to do?"

Fenris sucked lazily on Hawke's neck and did not answer. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Hawke prompted him again.

"What do you want? You weren't shy when you described your dreams for me." And in case it wasn't clear, in case Fenris had any remaining doubt whatsoever, he added: "I'll do anything you ask."

"I want so  _much_."

"Then let's start with what you want the most." He stepped around a broken floorboard and adapted Fenris' own words. "We'll do the rest later."

He made it all the way to the threshold of the door before Fenris murmured softly near his ear, as if his desire was too outrageous, too exorbitant to be spoken out loud. "Your mouth. I want your mouth on me again."

Warmth spread through Hawke's chest and he wet his lips as he mutely nodded.

They'd reached the bed in the corner. Hawke braced a knee on the mattress and leaned forward until Fenris let go and fell back on the simple, cotton cover with a soft grunt. Since undoing the lacing would take time and Hawke didn't want to make him wait, he dipped down to nuzzle and mouth the hard ridge of his cock through the soft leather. He was rewarded with a sudden, hitched breath, and eager fingers delved into his hair to spur him on.

He'd discovered the previous time that Fenris didn't make much noise. He never cried out, nor did he say much, and if he moaned it was muffled. At first Hawke had been disconcerted and worried he'd done something wrong, until it dawned on him that Fenris' silence was a hallmark of his time as a slave. He'd learned not to voice his pleasure; it only ever lead to ridicule or punishment, or both. But what he wasn't able to express in sounds he made up for in touch, in actions, and while Hawke blindly tugged on the lacing by his hip, Fenris squirmed under him and made a go at forcing the leggings down.

Between them, they succeeded in pushing both the leather and his smalls far enough down to give Hawke access. The smell and taste of lyrium was much stronger here, but Hawke welcomed it. Fenris no longer tasted of lyrium to him, but lyrium had come to taste like Fenris.

He took Fenris' cock lightly in hand and lapped at him with a wide, flat tongue. He followed the whole length from the scant, dark hairs at the base all the way up to the rounded head, again and again, until he was slick and — Isabela would be proud — glistening in the firelight.

This gentle and careful treatment was clearly not what Fenris had in mind. He muttered a barely audible curse and grabbed a fistful of sheets, and one of his feet tried in vain to find purchase against the mattress. It kept slipping. Hawke took pity on it, wrapped his arm around Fenris' thigh, and guided his knee over one broad shoulder. After a final, teasing lick he peered up. Fenris laid propped up on one elbow, his tunic rucked up above his navel, face flushed and eyes pleading.

Some things did not need to be said.

Hawke smiled to himself, relaxed his jaw, and took as much of Fenris' cock as he could comfortably manage. The fingers in his hair scratched against his scalp, begging for more, and he pushed himself a little further before he began to move. He paid attention to Fenris' ragged breathing, the stifled gasps he felt more than heard, and the way the muscles of his stomach grew taut and sometimes trembled. They instructed him where Fenris could not, and he adapted his pace to match.

The underside was particularly sensitive due to the thick, white line that marred the skin, but Hawke knew and avoided putting any direct pressure on it. There would be no pain tonight, only pleasure. The head had no markings, which meant he could do whatever he pleased. Each time he rose up until only the tip of Fenris' cock was left in his mouth he swallowed hard around it while his tongue swirled over the slit and lapped up any fresh offerings.

When Fenris was no longer able to hold back soft, strangled moans, Hawke sped up. It wasn't long before he fell back on the bed with a muted groan and his hands dropped from Hawke's head to grab his shoulder and claw uselessly at the bed with blunt nails. He didn't warn Hawke, but he didn't need to: as he lost control the markings on his body pulsed with blue light. Scattered flickers at first, then all of them lit up at once. Seconds later he shuddered and went still. Hawke stayed on him and swallowed until there was nothing more.

The thought occurred to him that it was little different than downing a lyrium potion. Merely seeing one would likely turn Hawke's face red from now on, as his mind took him back to this moment and the taste of Fenris on his tongue. But that was a fact best kept to himself.

He took the time to ease Fenris' smalls up so they wouldn't become uncomfortable, but left his tights a half-undone mess. They'd have to come off sooner or later anyway. Fenris reached out a shaking hand, either in invitation or demand, and Hawke crawled up to lie beside him.

"You like that, huh?"

Fenris hadn't quite gotten his breathing back to normal, but he managed a hoarse laugh. His face glowed with heat and he wore the kind of smile he otherwise never did. He was  _happy_. That happiness, and the aftermath of pleasure, lead him to speak candidly.

"No one ever did that for me." He stretched beside Hawke and hummed with contentment. "Until you."

"You're joking. You never had someone suck you?"

But even as he said it, he realised his own naiveté. Of course no one would give pleasure like that to a slave. The most they could hope for were stolen moments among each other, hidden from their master and at the risk of punishment. Fenris hadn't been like the other slaves; Danarius kept him close, always. He'd never had the chance.

Not until that fateful night when Hawke had slid down the wall and taken him in his mouth, heedless of the significance. Unaware of the monumental shift in Fenris' worldview. With the blood of a hated mage barely washed off his hands and the shadow of one even worse looming over him, another mage had dropped to his knees and sucked him off.

No wonder he'd been so stunned.

No wonder he was silent, now.

Before the silence could get any more awkward, Hawke rallied. "Hey, does that mean I got to be your first?"

Fenris groaned and ran a hand over his face. "Unless biting counts, yes."

If he hadn't covered his eyes, he'd have seen Hawke's goofy smile turn into a look of disbelief, before it transformed into horror.

"If it matters, you are the first and  _only_ one I have lain with willingly, Hawke." Fenris sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "Can we talk about something else?"

"An excellent suggestion." Hawke cleared his throat and tried to quell the urge for revenge on Fenris' behalf. When the time came, vengeance belonged to Fenris and Fenris alone. Hawke would be there, but he would not steal that from him, no matter how badly he wanted to tear Danarius to shreds with his own hands.

A far more pleasant thought came to mind, and he jumped on it. "You know, if you moved in with me, I could wake you up with my mouth every morning."

Fenris turned his head and frowned at him, unimpressed. "Bribery, Hawke?"

"Did you think I was above it?"

"I  _know_ you are not. And  _you_ know I will not give up my independence."

They've had this argument before. It's comfortable territory with well-rehearsed lines, even if they've never had the conversation in bed before. Hawke no longer remembered when it first took place, but he was reasonably sure it predated their previous night together.

Hawke hated that Fenris insisted on living in squalor and filth in a mansion permeated with his former master's cruelty and mummified corpses littering the floor. Not to mention the isolation meant precious time lost if any of the slavers were successful in overpowering him. He suspected it came down to Fenris not believing he deserved better, and perhaps deeper down, his inability to cut the last chain that bound him to his past. To the only life he'd known.

The situation frustrated Hawke to no end, but he understood he couldn't simply kidnap Fenris and install him in his own house. He had to come willingly. Had to want it for himself.

Hawke would keep asking until he did, so he knew the option was there.

"If Danarius shows up, we'll find out about it even if you live with me."

"No."

"We wouldn't have to share a bed."

"No."

"You'd have your own space—"

"No."

"-And could come and go as you wanted."

"No."

Fenris' lines are much easier to memorize than Hawke's. Sometimes he changes his for fun and tries to trip Fenris up. It hasn't worked so far.

"Just think about it."

"No."

"The bed in the guestroom is much softer than this one."

"No."

"It is, though."

"I will concede that may be true, but it's irrelevant. I will not sleep in it."

"This place is falling apart."

"Let it."

"You could have an entire floor of the house if you wanted."

Fenris deviated from his blanket refusal and raised an eyebrow. "And you would sneak up to my room every morning to suck me?"

Hawke shrugged, smiling. "Not like it'd be a hardship."

"You realize the offer does not have the same effect when you literally  _just_ made me come."

"Good point. I'll tempt you tomorrow."

Fenris rolled his eyes and shifted onto his side, but there was a small smile curling his mouth.

Hawke huffed, like he always did at the end of their scripted argument. "Will you at least consider it? The roof will cave in on you one of these days."

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask."

"No, it is not. But it's all you will get for now."

Fenris nudged his shoulder and Hawke let himself be pushed over on his side as well, facing away. Fenris curled up behind him, his knees tucking into the back of Hawke's, and his arm slid around Hawke's waist.

"I'm much bigger than you; wouldn't it be better if we turned around the other way?"

Fenris tensed and went still. " _No_."

The way he said it, so markedly different from all his other refusals and with an undertone of  _fear_ , made Hawke tense, too. Biting his lip, he found Fenris' hand where it lay against his own belly, and squeezed it.

"Does it bother you to… have someone against your backside?"

Fenris voice was small, almost apologetic, even though he spoke the word firmly. "Yes."

"That's fine. We can lie like this."

But Fenris was troubled and tightened his hold on Hawke. "I wish I could, but—"

"Hey, there are people with far worse hang-ups than that, for reasons not nearly as good as yours. Making me be the little spoon isn't a big deal. I like it."

The room was quiet for a while.

"Hawke?"

"Yes?"

"I am not sure if—" Fenris swallowed and started again. "I may never let you fuck me."

Hawke pushed up on an elbow and peered over his shoulder. Fenris averted his eyes downward so all Hawke could see were tufts of white hair over a tight-lipped mouth. He looked so small and fragile, tucked up against Hawke's larger body.

"Fen, that's  _not_ why I'm with you."

"You need to know it's a possibility."

"Alright. Noted. But I'm not going anywhere." He turned and laid back down on the pillow. "It doesn't matter to me."

After a few moments had passed, Fenris spoke again.

"Do you not want to?"

"Of course I do." He hesitated, and cleared his throat to give himself a chance to think. "Perhaps it's wrong to say it doesn't matter. I've… thought about it. Sometimes. But when I've imagined it, when I've  _dreamed_ about it, you always want it, too. You enjoy it. And if reality is that you won't, that you're not comfortable, or that it'll bring back bad memories, I'd rather it stayed a dream."

Hawke smiled slightly, and even though Fenris didn't see, it could be heard in his tone. "Every dream doesn't have to come true. As long as I get to be with you, that's all I want.  _That's_ what matters."

"Hmm." Their hands were still linked, and now it was Fenris' turn to squeeze Hawke's. "Sometimes I struggle to believe you are real. That someone like you exists."

"I'm a rare breed."

"You are."

There was an edge to Fenris' voice, and his hand tightened around Hawke's again. He might not have said the words, but Hawke felt them all the same.

_I love you._

Hawke closed his eyes, his chest warm and somehow too tight. Fenris twined their fingers.

"And you're not as difficult as you think yourself to be. I could do without all the waiting, but when we get to it, the rest… the rest is just details. Everyone has preferences and things they don't like. I do, too." He hesitated and turned his head slightly, aware he was about to dip his toe into dangerous territory. "Would you walk out if there was something I wasn't comfortable doing?"

"No."

"I won't do that to you, either."

"It's not a preference." Fenris shifted behind him and pressed his nose against the nape of Hawke's neck. "And it is not some small detail. It's a significant imbalance."

It was clear he argued for the sake of arguing, now, without any vehemence involved. Hawke was happy to provide all the reassurance he needed. Especially when he touched his lips to Hawke's skin.

"An imbalance I am perfectly okay with." He was momentarily distracted by Fenris trailing a series of light, little kisses along his hairline, up toward his ear, and struggled to continue his train of thought. "But if you really want to, you can make it up to me in other ways. That'd offset it just fine."

"Hmm. How?"

Fenris had reached the back of his ear and licked along the curve of the lobe. Then he nipped at it, hard, and made Hawke yelp. Fenris wasn't good at being gentle, but Hawke didn't mind one bit. They'd work on gentle. In the meantime, he welcomed rough and hard with open arms.

"Fuck me." He wasn't surprised to hear the words come out sounding more like a plea than a demand. " _Often_. Every day. No,  _twice_ a day. Until I can't walk straight and everyone side-eyes us with disgust."

"That is a tall order."

"I have faith in you."

Behind him, Fenris reached down and adjusted himself. Hawke drew in a sharp breath when he settled back against Hawke's ass. He was half-hard again, and even through the clothes Hawke could feel him getting harder.

" _Oh_." He smiled. "Is it later?"

"Do you want it to be?"

As much as he wanted to moan — or possibly shout — his encouragement, he forced himself to hold back.

"Do you?"

Fenris wiggled his hips. "I thought it was clear."

"No, I mean..." Hawke swallowed and wondered how to phrase this in a delicate manner. He didn't think Fenris was ready to have  _the_ talk yet, but for Hawke's own peace of mind they had to at least touch on the topic. "Last time, you weren't alright, after. I don't want that to happen again."

Fenris was quiet for what felt like an eternity, but his hand remained linked with Hawke's to let him know he was still there. Finally, he spoke:

"I cannot guarantee it won't. But if my memories return again, I am prepared for it. They will not affect me as badly as they did." He pressed another kiss to Hawke's neck. "And I will not leave."

Hawke let out a pent-up, relieved breath.

"Can I see you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want to be face to face. Skin on skin. I want to feel you against me. I want to see you."

"I suppose." Fenris spoke in an indulgent tone, a benevolent ruler granting a minor request, but dropped the charade to bite Hawke's ear again. "I intended to undress you anyway."

That first night, so long ago, they hadn't managed to remove any of their clothes. As soon as they'd made it to the bedroom, Fenris had bent Hawke over his own desk, sending papers and quills flying, and yanked his breeches and smalls down only as far as was necessary. For a few seconds Hawke had expected to be taken roughly, a thought that held both uncertainty and more excitement than he was willing to admit. But then he'd felt silken hair against his tailbone and Fenris had plunged his tongue inside him instead. He'd fucked Hawke like that, hot and wet, while his arm had wrapped around and allowed for Hawke to thrust into Fenris' hand in return. Once he began to leak, Fenris had pulled back and used Hawke's own slick to spread him open with his long, slender fingers until he was a whimpering, pleading mess on the verge of release.

They'd stumbled into bed, Hawke on his back and Fenris over him. In a bid to stave off the inevitable Hawke had reached up to undo the hooks of Fenris' tunic. He'd wanted to slow down and touch bare skin, but Fenris had caught Hawke's wrists and pinned them down on the mattress.

"No," he'd growled, and his eyes had been wild and hungry. Desperate. "I need to— I need  _you_."

How was Hawke meant to resist? He should have known better, but he was only human. He'd kicked the leathers down to his ankles and brought his knees up to cradle Fenris between them. And when Fenris had invaded him with a muffled groan and began to move, Hawke hadn't lasted long.

Neither had Fenris.

Still in the aftermath of his own release, Hawke had held him as he shook and the blue lights painted abstract shadows on the walls. He'd felt Fenris' body go limp and boneless atop him, and had murmured soft words into his ear.

Only afterward had they undressed, and Hawke had gone to sleep sated and  _full_ in a way no other lover had made him.

If he had known, then, what he was about to lose, he'd have done everything differently. He'd have taken his time, made it last, and done more to make sure Fenris was alright. It likely wouldn't have mattered, but he would have done it regardless.

Fenris meant the world to him.

Now they were here again, had found their way back into bed by some miracle of the Maker, and Hawke's throat tightened with emotion.

Fenris sat up, swung his legs off the bed, and made quick work of his underclothes while Hawke pulled off his shirt. When he began to undo his tunic, Hawke caught his hands.

"Let me? Please."

Fenris lifted a brow, but lowered his hands.

Hawke flashed him a smile of gratitude. "I've never truly seen you naked."

"I know."

"Do you not want me to?"

"No, it's fine. I am just not—" Fenris shook his head. "I would have  _preferred_ if my body was clean for you. Free of these accursed markings."

It went deeper than the marks, Hawke knew. Fenris wished his past undone, wished no other hands had defiled him, so he could come to Hawke unburdened and pure. Untouched and whole. He couldn't see how it only gave more meaning to his wanting to be with Hawke.

"I know you hate them. I know they symbolize everything he did to you, and the indignities you had to suffer." Gently, he put a hand on Fenris' shoulder and applied pressure. Fenris resisted for a split second, then allowed himself to be pushed back. "But you've taken them and made them yours. They don't serve him anymore, they serve you. And one day, soon, you'll use them to kill him."

He started at the top and undid the first clasp at Fenris' throat. "They're beautiful. You are beautiful."

Each move was slow, he took his time and carefully unhooked each loop before moving on to the next. "I understand that wasn't a good thing. It was a curse. People want what's beautiful. They wanted you, and you had no choice. No freedom."

The last one hid under Fenris' cock. Hawke lifted it aside, and dipped down to press a quick, tender kiss to the tip before he undid the final clasp. "But you've left them behind. There's no one here but you and me."

 _And I love you_.

The tunic fell open, but Hawke avoided lifting up to look. Instead he stayed close to Fenris' stomach and kissed the pristine area below his navel. His skin tasted of fresh, slightly salty sweat and the ever-present lyrium. His cock, hot and fully hard now, prodded Hawke's cheek and brought with it the musky scent of arousal. He smiled and turned to flick his tongue at it.

" _Venhedis_ , Hawke. If you do not stop that I'll—" He cut himself off to swallow down a moan when Hawke did it again.

"Ask me to suck you off one more time?" Hawke purred. "That offer of doing so daily still stands."

Amidst the string of rapid, Tevene curse-words there were some Hawke had never heard before. He considered that a badge of honor.

Fenris hauled him up along his torso by the hair, and not kindly so either, sabotaging Hawke's plan to kiss and lick his way upward. Once they were face to face, he pulled Hawke in for a brief, bruising kiss, and practically snarled. "Get those pants off.  _Now_."


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke didn’t need to be told twice. He threw himself onto his back and shoved the breeches down far enough he could kick them off. His smalls went the same way. Fenris shrugged out of the tunic, crawled over to the battered nightstand beside his bed, and pulled out the top drawer.

 The sight of him sitting there, naked and with his back curved forward, the lines of lyrium accenting every muscle and curve of his body from his ass to his neck, was enough to knock the breath out of Hawke’s lungs. So was the fact he knew precisely what Fenris was fetching, even before he heard the slosh of oil against glass.

 Unexpectedly, doubt flooded him.

 He pushed up on an elbow and wet his lips. Maker knew he wanted to, he absolutely did, but what he wanted more was to not fuck this up.

 “We don’t have to.”

 Fenris looked up from popping the cork open. “Hmm?”

 “If you’re not— I don’t want you to push yourself. What we’ve done already, is...” The sight of Fenris dipping his fingers into the bottle, one by one, without breaking eye-contact made Hawke stumble over his words. “...is, uh, it’s enough.”

 Fenris smirked, put the bottle aside, and shoved Hawke down on the bed with his left hand. “Not for me.”

 “Oh.” A shiver of excitement went through him. He grabbed one of the pillows and pushed it under himself to raise his hips and make it easier. “Are you cer—”

 “ _Yes_.”

 “I’m only...” He drew in a sharp breath as Fenris touched his inner thigh and coaxed his legs apart. Hawke barely managed to make himself comfortable before Fenris’ slick fingertip prodded at him.  “...making sure.”

 “As many times as I have imagined this, my memory ought to have come back tenfold.”

 “That often?”

 It occurred to Hawke, dimly, that Fenris must have had plans. He’d obtained the oil, after all, and placed it where it’d be close at hand. He wanted this. Wanted Hawke.

 Despite his need, Fenris did not rush. He applied slight pressure and rubbed his finger in a small circle, around and around, to get Hawke used to the sensation and ease his way.

 “Nearly every night, Hawke.”

 “It’s about time, then.”

 He gasped out loud when that lone finger breached him. It didn’t burn, not yet, but he could tell his body had its reservations. So could Fenris.

 “You are very tight.”

 Hawke clenched his eyes shut. He wasn’t entirely successful at keeping the reproach out of his voice. “It’s _been a while_.”

 “I know.” Fenris hummed softly and scooted down some more. Hawke suspected Fenris took a measure of pride in the fact he hadn’t gone to anyone else, even after Fenris left him. “Let me help you.”

 There wasn’t enough time for Hawke to speculate what he meant. One moment his whole world centered around the slippery finger moving inside him, the next it was eclipsed wholly by the hot mouth that enveloped his cock.

 This was new. Hawke hadn’t been sure it was something Fenris even wanted to do. He’d fantasized, sure, but his imagination had fallen woefully short of reality; Fenris sucked on him like there was a prize to be had, like he was starved and Hawke the only source of nourishment.

 He’d been hard already, but when he looked down just as Fenris lifted his head and met his gaze, his upper lip stretched thin around the head of Hawke’s cock, he felt himself swell impossibly more. Which didn’t help matters. Fenris let go with a wet sound and held him in hand while his thumb caressed idly. He frowned.

 “You are bigger than I remember.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Fenris shot him a chastising look. “There are certain things you do not need to apologise for, Hawke.”

 “If it’s difficult for you—”

 He was ignored. Fenris moved on the bed, trying for a better angle, and swallowed him up again without hesitation. His mouth was hot, so hot, and he’d lost none of his hunger.

 Hawke wondered if it was possible for his mind to melt and leak out his ears. It felt like it was. He moaned, much louder than Fenris had done, and an eternity passed in a blissful haze before he realised there were two fingers inside him now. When Fenris slipped a third in, the burn began. He shifted on the pillow, trying his best not to push up and into Fenris’ mouth, while still adjusting their position for comfort. Fenris noticed and released him again.

 “Are you alright?”

 “Yeah.” Hawke looked up at him through half-shut eyes and nodded for emphasis. “I’ll be fine.”

 Fenris accepted his reassurance, but didn’t return to his cock. Instead he watched Hawke’s face closely and concentrated on the task at hand. Hawke considered asking him to continue, but decided against it. He wanted this to last. If he spent any more time in Fenris’ mouth that was off the table.

 As soon as his fingers were able to move freely, Fenris sat back and started to stretch Hawke wider. The burning sensation returned and Hawke hissed softly.

 “Too much?”

 “No. Just a passing twinge. Keep going.”

 “I do not like to see you in pain.”

 “It’ll be worth it. And it’s getting easier already.”

 It was. His body opened up, unlocked by Fenris’ skilled hands, by his _mouth_ , and the desire for something bigger to fill him took over.

 “There, that’s enough.”

 Fenris shook his head. “A little more.”

 “It’s fine, Fen, I’m ready.”

 “I am not that small.”

 Hawke was about to agree when he thought better of it. He smiled. “Show me.”

 “You are insufferable.” Fenris looked up to briefly glare at Hawke. “Was I not _in your mouth_ no more than half an hour ago? You know perfectly well.”

 He groaned and some of his frustration came through in his words. “Maybe. But I’m empty and aching and ready for you. And you’re _stalling_.”

 Fenris relented. He withdrew his fingers, wiped them on his cock, and added some more oil for good measure. Once satisfied, he moved up over Hawke’s body and covered it with his own.

 “Hawke?”

 “Yes?”

 “I need to... Before we...” Fenris swallowed and adjusted his knees. “I should not have left like that last—”

 “ _No_. Fuck you, you absolute bastard. We are _not_ having this conversation now.” He stared up at Fenris, caught between anger and disbelief, and found his hips with both hands, in case he got any bright ideas about pulling away. “Fuck me.”

 “Hawke—”

 “No. _Fuck me_.” His voice softened some, and his fingers dug into Fenris’ flesh where it was safe, away from the lyrium. “ _Please_. Not now. I need you.”

 The very same words Fenris had spoken to Hawke, a thousand years ago. Fenris stared at him with dark eyes. Hawke held his breath. Then Fenris nodded, once, and reached down between them.

 “If you will not let me say it, then...” He moved his hips in Hawke’s grasp, positioning himself. Familiar fingers held him open and he was invaded, taken, conquered. The rest of Fenris’ sentence competed with his own moan. “...let me show you.”

 “ _Yes_.”

 It had never felt this good. Even last time, when Hawke thought he couldn’t possibly want it more, paled in comparison. He was whole. Complete. There had been no resistance, his body welcomed every inch Fenris had to offer, and it was glorious.

 Except for one thing. One very vital thing.

 Fenris wasn’t moving.

 He peered down at Hawke, anxious for any signs of discomfort. Tenderly, he brushed away a strand of hair that had stuck to the sweat on Hawke’s forehead. Maybe he knew how to be gentle after all. Maybe he was picking it up as he went along.

 Hawke nuzzled into his hand and Fenris responded with a small, shy smile. In his eyes Hawke saw the love he’d learned to read in gestures and hear in completely different words.

 There was no ambiguity anymore. This was what he wanted to show Hawke.

 Fenris loved him.

 Unable to speak, his throat thick with emotion, Hawke whimpered softly and tugged on Fenris’ hips in a silent plea. It made his body rock against Hawke’s, and that tiny movement alone was enough to make him groan and throw his head back. Distantly, almost drowned out by his own noise, he thought he could hear Fenris moan, too.

 “Oh, you feel so good.”

 “Is it— Can I—?” Fenris voice was strained with the effort of holding back.

 “ _Fuck_ me, Fen.”

 He let out a ragged breath and rocked against Hawke twice more. Finally, he pulled back and _thrust_. For a precious moment, Hawke swore he understood religion. He stretched out under Fenris and gave himself up to the pleasure as he began to move in earnest.

 It was an old bed. Fenris had neglected to do any maintenance on it, and it squeaked merrily when he picked up speed.

 Hawke didn’t care. He wouldn’t care if the walls of the mansion came down around them, provided Fenris would keep fucking him. “ _Yes_.”

 Gentle had come and gone. Fenris dug his fingers into the flesh of Hawke’s hip hard enough to leave bruises, but it kept him from sliding away on the slippery sheets. His other hand found Hawke’s shoulder, and he’d have little crescent marks there, too, from Fenris’ short nails. He’d wear them with pride.

 His own ran up and down Fenris’ back, scraping the skin and leaving thin, red lines in their wake between the lyrium. He wanted to grab his ass and help crash their bodies together, but he couldn’t reach. If he could lift up he would’ve been able to, but Fenris’ hand prevented him from doing so. Hawke found he rather enjoyed being held down and fucked hard. He’d liked it when Fenris bent him over the desk, too.

 Fenris made Hawke learn new things about himself.

 “Fen... Fuck.” He shuddered. The pressure had already begun to build at the base of his spine. “ _Harder_.”

 Fenris had no objections. He slammed into Hawke hard enough to make the bed creak. He also changed his grip on Hawke’s hip and lifted him up another inch or two. It made all the difference. Hawke cried out in surprise, but moans quickly followed.

 “Yes, yes, right there. _Fuck_ yes.”

 If Fenris could not bring himself to voice his pleasure, Hawke would speak for the both of them. Loudly.

 “You’re so— _Oh_.” His hands skated along Fenris’ back, gliding on a layer of sweat. He could feel all of his muscles hard at work, and underneath them, the building tension. “You’re so good. Fuck, so good to me. And you feel so fucking good.”

 Hawke was babbling, but he didn’t care. His stomach was taut and trembled with the effort of delaying the inevitable. He’d lost track of where his hands were, and the words that fell from his mouth were no longer coherent. All he was aware of, all that mattered, was Fenris moving over him and _in_ him.

 When Hawke finally unravelled the force of his release overwhelmed him. His vision went white. For a while he existed in a state of pure, suspended bliss as he writhed on the bed and spilled on his own stomach, again and again, accompanied by a loud, drawn-out moan.

 It seemed to go on forever before the fog cleared, but he couldn’t have lost too much time. Fenris was still fucking him. His rhythm had gone erratic and he struggled for breath. Hawke blinked to clear his eyes just as the lyrium lit with blue-white light all around him. Awed, he watched the pleasure break on Fenris’ face and heard his shuddered gasp.

 As he slowly came down from his peak, Fenris’ arms began to tremble with the strain of holding himself up. Hawke saw and pulled him down to lie flush against him. They lay panting in each other’s arms, their bodies slick and hot and completely melted together.

 For a while, no words were spoken. They shared the silence of the aftermath while they cooled. Eventually, when it began to be a little too cold, Hawke nudged Fenris’ side. He slid out and off, pulled the covers up over them, and settled back down with his head on Hawke’s shoulder.

 “The rate at which your vocabulary deteriorates when I am fucking you is remarkable.”

 Hawke peered at Fenris’ face. “There’s that smug look again.”

 “Have I not earned it?”

 “And you say _I’m_ insufferable.” He hid a smile against silky, white hair. “Yes, you have.”

 

\---

 

Hawke didn’t know how long he’d slept when he woke with a start. The fire had gone out. The last he remembered they’d been curled up close, but now Fenris’ warmth had gone. He was no longer beside Hawke in the bed.

  _No. Not again._

 His heart shot up into his throat and he sat up, frantic. After blinking a couple of time, he saw Fenris on the mattress’ edge, bent forward and pulling on his clothes.

 Hawke grabbed Fenris’ forearm in a grip so tight it would surely leave bruises.

 “ _Ow_ , Hawke!” Fenris glared him, leggings around his knees, but when he saw Hawke’s panicked face his annoyance changed to alarm. “What’s wrong?”

 “Don’t leave me. I can’t— Not again.”

 Fenris looked away and shook his head with a muttered curse. When he turned back to Hawke he moved closer and reached out to cup the side of Hawke’s face with a warm hand. The scent of lyrium, of Fenris, filled his nostrils and soothed him.

 “I am not leaving, Hawke; I promised you I would not. Besides, this is _my_ mansion, where would I go? I just need to relieve myself.”

 Hawke didn’t let go. “Will you swear?” And he added, softly, pleading: “Please? Humor me.”

 Fenris sighed, but peeled Hawke’s hand off his arm and clasped it over his heart to mimic the sanctity of a vow. “Garrett Hawke, I swear to you, _I am not leaving_. I will only go as far as the bathing chamber and I will return right away.” He paused. “And if you do not let me go, I will pee on you.”

 The relief that flooded Hawke made him sag back against the pillows. “Kinky. But not the kind I’m into.”

 “ _Good_.” Fenris pulled his leggings up the rest of the way and headed for the door. Either he never bothered with a shirt when he went on nightly errands, or he left it off to further reassure Hawke he wouldn’t run. “I would be forced to reconsider our relationship otherwise.”

 Our relationship.

  _Our relationship_.

 The bed smelled of sex and faintly of lyrium. The whole room probably did. Hawke adjusted the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. They hadn’t had _the_ talk yet. There were still plenty of things left to work out. Boundaries would need to be negotiated. One of them would eventually have to yield on the matter of where Fenris lived, and Hawke feared it’d be him. But they weren’t in a hurry.

 As far as Hawke was concerned, Fenris could take all the time he needed. He knew now that Fenris loved him, even if he hadn’t yet mustered the courage to say the words out loud. And perhaps, with their more immediate needs seen to, the rest would get easier.

 Fenris wasn’t gone long, but by the time he returned Hawke was half asleep all the same, his worries soothed.

 “Hawke?”

 “Hmm?”

 “If you ready a room…” Fenris crawled under the covers and reclaimed his spot on Hawke’s shoulder. “I will stay there sometimes.”

  _You have to let me be free._

 Hawke smiled and closed his eyes. “I’ll take it.”  
  


_end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. This is my first foray into Dragon Age fanfic, so please let me know what you think! I've started to write a much longer story and I'd love any feedback you can give :)


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